


Loss

by in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Injury, Loss of Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather/pseuds/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather
Summary: You and Clyde lose your baby and everything slowly dissolves,Based on this prompt: I don't know why I'm doing this to us, but I'm feeling angsty so hit me with baby, and surgery for the Logan family curse man himself. Poor sweet thing would be so Incredibly nervous during a pregnancy anyway, so I can only imagine how inconsolable he'd be if he couldn't be with us. If you feel so inclined, you can throw in a death as well. (Reader or the kid, but please god don't take both from him lol)
Relationships: Clyde Logan & Reader, Clyde Logan & You, Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7





	Loss

§ It was nobody’s ‘fault’. Not really.

§ There was construction all around the main road, everything was blocked and covered up. It was amazing _more_ accidents didn’t happen.

§ The guy wasn’t even driving fast. You hopped out of somebody else’s way, right into his car as he was pulling out. Barely even bumped you. But you tripped over some reinforcement framework, which added huge momentum to your fall.

§ They call it a placental abruption. It’s extremely rare. Happens in less than 1% of pregnancies. Out of that one percent, half happen 37 weeks in or more in. The baby is basically all cooked and, worst come to worst, a C-section can be performed.

§ Only 14% of 1% of abruptions happen before 32 weeks. You were around the 20 week mark. And the abruption wasn’t partial, like most. The placenta had virtually entirely separated from the uterus.

§ Bleeding, cramping – similar to contractions, you were informed, the only contractions you’d be experiencing for this pregnancy, you knew in your terrified, forlorn heart.

§ _The baby has no means of supporting itself in terms of oxygenation or getting any nutrients._ – the doctors explained as you felt life bleeding out of you.

§ _It’s an extremely serious condition and it is life threatening to both the mom and the baby_. – they told Clyde as you were taken into surgery.

§ Usually, they say something vague, but ominous like, _a decision may have to be made_ …

§ There was no decision to be made.

§ Only praying that the baby doesn’t take you with it.

§ Clyde was expressly forbidden from approaching the OR. He was clearly in a deep state of shock now that he didn’t need to be taking care of you and his brain had the opportunity to reflect on what happened and what _was_ happening; pale, drenched in cold sweat, shaking, lips slowly turning bluish and nausea approaching.

§ Despite his feeble protests – body seized up, mind so far away, locked away from what was happening to prevent it cracking and shattering completely - he was taken away, to be monitored and gradually coaxed back from this state.

§ Somewhere, in a very distant corner of his mind, he was glad. Glad that he was feeling dread, that his body felt cold and empty, not his, like death was slowly creeping up on him – it was only fair. Only fair as his child was perishing and you were being cut up.

§ Recovery was relatively slow and painful. Not helped by your mental state. Bedrest. Bloody pads. Aches. Sudden bursting into tears. Complete detachment otherwise.

§ You knew what he was thinking.

§ The curse.

§ And he knew you knew it. He wouldn’t bother you with it, he could see you were overwhelmed and underwhelmed all at once. But his thoughts were so loud, plain to see on his face, he may as well have been shouting them.

§ What are the odds? For it to happen at all? To a healthy woman? To be so severe?

§ But factor in that you were his wife, the curse patiently waiting to stick, and twist, the knife, and it made perfect sense to him.

§ It made no sense you.

§ It might have been… easier? What a ridiculous word. It might have made some modicum of sense if you could believe the way he did. It might provide some… comfort? The only word more ridiculous than easier. Things that are explained don’t plague us as much. At least we understand them. At least there’s that. And maybe one day, you can close that door.

§ But you didn’t understand. And you likely never would.

§ Clyde hadn’t experienced that kind of murderous rage since his time in the army. This time, it was far more personal and intense. He wanted the driver of that car smashed to a pulp.

§ Was it reasonable? Not really. Did he think about his face – and he knew the face, he had managed to find out who it was – red and cracked and torn, his own knuckles raw and split open to the bone? Yes. Every night before bed. Every morning in the shower. Whenever another thought wasn’t actively occupying his brain.

§ You tried again.

§ You were worried – taking your new and deteriorated womb for a test drive.

§ Clyde was gentle and patient. Encouraging. Putting no pressure on you. Just getting rid of the condoms and whatever happens, happens.

§ You had a miscarriage a few weeks in.

§ Seeing several different therapists didn’t help.

§ You couldn’t find the right cocktail of medication.

§ Rumors reached you of women, callous whores, coming on to Clyde.

§ It must have been evident that your marriage was on the decline.

§ Clyde accepted moving without protest. He was gentle and patient. Encouraging. Putting no pressure on you.

§ Your therapists, Clyde, Jimmy, Sylvie, friends, you, you all concluded it must be being in the same place. The memories, the routine… You needed to switch it up. Then you’d feel better.

§ You pretended for a while.

§ It was tolerable for a time.

§ New place, obligations, decorating, it took your mind off things.

§ House warming, filling up your space with bodies to keep the emptiness out.

§ Clyde occasionally forwent condoms. You were always on birth control.

§ He wasn’t surprised when you said you wanted to leave.

§ It wouldn’t be for a time.

§ It wouldn’t be a trial separation.

§ It was you. It was him. That was what was bothering you. And you couldn’t just jump out of your skin and be someone else, but you could put some distance between yourself and him.

§ You still loved him. So much. God. So. Much.

§ Clyde was gentle and patient. Encouraging. Putting no pressure on you.

§ But your pain was greater than your love. And a decision had to be made.

§ Stay with Clyde, give in to your dark thoughts one day, just like any other, have him bring flowers to three graves, his ma’s, your child’s in your backyard, yours.

§ Or go.

§ He let you go, preferring to have you in the world, with the possibility of one day running into you, on another man’s arm, baby in a carriage, and healed.

§ He had plans of his own.

§ When the divorce was finalized and you moved, Clyde finally felt free to do what he had been hankering for for a long time.

§ He fucked a few of those women who were running after him, disrespecting you as they did it; punished them was more like it. He did every filthy thing he always heard about, but never felt the urge to do you. Hitting, spitting, humiliating, not caring for what they said.

§ One day, in broad daylight, he went to his house.

§ The man knew him instantly. Knew what he was there to do. Wet himself from fear.

§ Clyde pummeled him until he was unrecognizable.

§ Went with police with no protest at all, admitted to the whole thing.

§ In court, he was sentenced not only for the severe assault, but also for attempted murder because some of Jimmy’s tools had been in his car during the attack, and those were deemed to be able to inflict lethal force.

§ Clyde’s response was that so was he.

§ Nobody contradicted him again when he said he was cursed.


End file.
